He's Not At Home
by sk4di
Summary: Aubrey reflects about her life while her husband is not at home.


He's not at home.

And Aubrey tries to look for some surprise in herself, knowing she won't find.

Call this a routine was indeed acceptable. It wasn't only two or three days a week that she came home from the office to find an empty house. The peach-colored walls framed, the reddish brown wood baseboards and the polished floor echoed through the silence as a welcome greeting to which she was already accustomed.

She hung up her coat in the closet and the reflection of the figure in the foyer mirror gave her chills. Over the years, she was becoming more like her mother. She didn't know if she hated herself for it or if she had already learned to treat it with indifference. Her blond hair tied in a bun her mother had taught her when she was still a little girl going to ballet classes was a huge reminder that she had the impression that she knew very well the person she was becoming. And now, leaning closer to the mirror to examine more carefully a recent wrinkle near her left eye, she could remember; yes, she still hated it.

It's not that Aubrey did not want to be someone's wife. She just did not want to be The Wife, whom Ms. Posen was for most time of her life. After all, who was Caroline before being Andrew Posen's wife? Did she liked to read? Or dance? Or both? Perhaps she had a routine that included morning walkings on Saturday mornings. Perhaps she used to be the first to wake up at home, and prepare coffee for everyone. Aubrey never knew. She was the daughter of Andrew Posen's wife, Caroline Posen, a young lady physically too similar to herself, had died on the day Posen had put the second ring on the ring finger of her left hand, and a cold and mechanical woman took her place. She looked with some distaste for the pair of rings on her own left hand before entering the hall.

Aubrey checked the house vaguely just to have the sure of her loneliness. She went upstairs undoing the buttons of her white shirt, trying not to think about how she wanted someone else was doing it. With a frustrated sigh, she kicked off her heels and put them neatly on the closet shelf, changed the expensive blazer and skirt and put on the first t-shirt and sweatpants she found in the drawer, untied the bun and threw her long blond hair over her shoulder before looking at the mirror.

She thought of getting worried for not having paid any attention to herself but to the forest green t-shirt she was wearing, where golden letters said as carelessly the name of something that had a larger size in her life than she used to admit. Barden University.

Because when Aubrey chose to think of Barden - what happened more often than she found acceptable - she saw a kind of opposite universe to the life she now lived. She was an exemplary student, not a professional that not even her father took seriously. She was the leader of a group and, she admitted now, even committing grave mistakes, kept them loyalty to her, not someone who didn't knew of her own husband's whereabouts on a Tuesday night. And she was the one who came home – a small college dorm - after classes to received the most comforting hug followed by a kiss in the cheek and the question "how was your day?" in the most sweet and affectionate voice she could ever hear, and not someone who comes home after a long day to find a huge and empty house.

And then, it was too late. Every effort to avoid thinking about Chloe had been in vain and there she was again wondering how Chloe was at that very moment. It was a common pastime for the blonde, and it would be amusing if it weren't so painful to know nothing about her former roommate's being.

She imagined Chloe coming home after work. Maybe she also had a husband - or a wife, after all, it's Chloe - someone who warmly receives her when she got home from her day job at some elementary school. Perhaps she even have children. Aubrey imagined a miniature of Chloe running around the house – a cozy place, but a little messy if she can be honest - and jumping happily on her mother. Chloe carrying the little girl and greeting her husband with a quick welcome kiss that turned soon into a smile. Chloe's smile. The adorable expression lines on the blue eyes' corners.

The silence around her fueled the desire to turn off that luxury, empty house and try to connect to a reality where she hadn't made the biggest decisions of her life seeking approval of a distant and stern father. A life without that failed marriage from the very beginning, a life without that lackluster career and without the void that seemed to possess everything around her. At that time home alone with her own mind, she could be anyone. Even the person who comes home and finds Chloe and her radiant smile.

She imagined then coming home to a place with walls filled with photos where she saw a blonde and a redhead, smiling on all the images without exception. Some newer including another redhead, a much smaller one. The house, despite being just a figment of her imagination, looked more like a home than that one she was living on. She heard sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen, and she forced herself to close her eyes to allow herself to fully immerse in fantasy.

Chloe was in the kitchen - which by the way, was a mess - with her back to the entrance. She was baking something and talking with the little red head. The little girl had her cheeks covered in flour and Aubrey had to control herself not to squeal with the cuteness of the scene that melted her heart. The kid was the first to see the blonde woman standing in the doorway and did not seem startled by the strange presence. Rather, she came off the bench she was sitting on and threw herself toward Aubrey.

"Momma!" She screamed excited in her little voice and Aubrey instinctively, carried the girl in her arms, who did not hesitate to embrace the woman's neck.

Aubrey's heart squeezed in a way that the only thing she could do was hold the little one against her chest. It felt so right. And when Chloe approached them with that smile, she could not think about what was the warm feeling in her chest.

"We missed you." The redhead woman said, before leaning to give Aubrey's cheek a chaste kiss.

That was right. That's was how the things should had happened. Being Chloe's wife, being the mother of Chloe's children, being the one who receives that lovely kiss everyday. She wouldn't mind being Aubrey Beale. Not even a little.

"I missed you." Aubrey found herself saying the words with a much deeper meaning. I missed you. I miss you. I miss _that_ , even if it's not real.

Chloe smiled with blue eyes never breaking the contact with other woman's before leaning in for another kiss, this time on her lips. It was very close, and Aubrey wanted to count the freckles under her _wife_ 's eyes but she could not think very well when Chloe was so close.

Aubrey heard a door slam downstairs, and the scene around her dissolved into the room with gray walls and minimalist furnishings, ugly paintings that she had learned to hate and a bed that had only the purpose of a night of restless sleep.

He was at home.


End file.
